Bitter Truth
by ashleyjordan
Summary: Warped by an obsessive jealousy, Dwight commits the unthinkable. Imprisoned, Jim struggles to escape Schrute Farms and the unmerciful hands of his enraged coworker who is determined to snuff out his fate. (Mature warning for explicit description, violence, torture, kidnapping & questionable M/M sexual acts.)
1. Quivering Insurrection

**Bitter Truth**

* * *

_**Notes:**_

_**Extra:**_

If you are purely here for one reason, you can start at chapter three. Otherwise, please read this story in its entirety for plot/character development and further comprehension.

Additionally, you may find this fic on Archive of Our Own &amp; in its entirety

_**Copyright:**_

_The Office _(U.S.) © adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deddle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

Chapter 1: Quivering Insurrection

* * *

Warped by an obsessive jealousy, Dwight commits the unthinkable. Imprisoned, Jim struggles to escape Schrute Farms and the unmerciful hands of his enraged coworker who is determined to snuff his fate.

The audible click of a block telephone sounded as the oblong shape slipped into its black receiver. A tall, slender man quickly jotted a figure down onto his spreadsheet, marking yet another successful order renewed with a regular client. Leaning backwards on his swivel chair, he fully stretched beneath the conjoined desks, content to linger for a brief respite while cupping his neck.

"Halpert, my office."

Completely caught off guard by the immediate order, the foppish employee practically stumbled out of his seat. Sheepishly, he caught a knowing glance from Pam before he hastened to the branch manager's domicile. Tightening his tie and smoothing his hair back before reaching the door, Jim hesitantly twisted the knob and entered,

"Sir?"

"Ah, Jim." An imposing man of slight stature and robust frame appeared enthroned behind a mahogany desk. In Jim's eyes, Robert California filled the entire space despite being partially dwarfed by his massive black leather chair. "Have a seat."

Nodding his understanding, Jim realigned himself to the nearest available accommodation, a simple wooden armchair covered by a cerulean cushion. Prior to reigniting his boss's attention, the slim salesman noted another colleague stationed against the far wall.

Dwight Schrute stood dressed in a traditional brown suit which he had adorned with that hideous striped yellow tie which matched his polo sarcastically well. Curiously, Jim noticed that Dwight's nose was scrunched up in concentration. Unblinkingly, the stout man continued to press down upon the blinds in order to peer out the sole window pane. Before he could think to jeer his strange coworker's odd behavior, Jim's crafty inner dialogue was interrupted.

"Care to join us, Mr. Schrute?"

"Certainly." Came the curt reply, tactile and to the point. Stiffly, Dwight turned, dropping his hand from the window with a twist to join his other already positioned behind his back.

"Now then, let's begin this impromptu meeting, shall we?"

"Yes, lets." Dwight enthusiastically agreed, liberally taking a step closer towards the desk. Wordlessly, Robert tilted his neck to stare into the soul of his subordinate,

"It's best to learn when rhetoric is being applied." Jim almost broke out into a chuckle, hiding his mirth behind the back of his hand. Dwight initially slumped at the reprimand yet maintained a rigid torso, naively confident that Robert was to impart some form of blessed wisdom onto his adoring staff.

"Regardless of how I was so rudely interrupted," Mr. California grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I have called you both here in regards to a very importance pitch. This task requires stamina, teamwork and unswerving obedience, is that understood?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" A military salute flew up a pace beyond the desk whereas Jim questioned the required protocol,

"Excuse me sir, but why should we need any of those….qualities?" Now it was his turn to feel that all-consuming, fiery gaze as it stirred from his supposed nemesis onto himself,

"No reason," The dark salt-peppered head shook nonchalantly, "No reason at all. Perhaps, someday you will become shrewd enough to discern the purpose on your own."

"W-well…of course." Jim conceded, feeling awkwardly out of place while Dwight offhandedly tutted in disappointment. Taking a liking to the former assistant to the regional manager compared to the recent critical reception, Robert shifted gears,

"While Jim matures, you are to lead this expedition Dwight."

"You can count on me, Sir." The low set cheeks of the German pushed back into a smile, an expression dashed by a cryptic gleam, "You have my word that I will whip this hooligan into shape."

"Good to hear it. You'll have to take your own car and bear an hour and a half along the back roads of Pennsylvania to reach this Godforsaken outpost. There's a new paper company up in Hawley. You know how rural towns can be, so understandably the city is tucked up in a crevice of the Poconos Mountains. It's roughly…I don't know, say forty miles away?" He bent, pulling twin manila folders up from his desk cabinet, "Don't look so dismayed! This deal will enable us to drive them out of business with one deft swing of the hammer."

Mysteriously, Mr. California peered at Jim for an uncomfortably long moment before snapping away, handing the papers over to his newly favored assistant,

"Dwight you requested this mission, and as such, I place full responsibility onto you. Make Sabre proud."

"Wait, Dwight's in charge?" Jim sputtered, "Sir, I _highly_ think you should reconsider! After all, imagine how he will behave around the-"

"Hush it, Halpert." Robert's eyes lit up in pleasure unexpectantly, "You know, I've always wanted to say that. Anyway, I think Dwight will excel in this field. He is a beet farmer after all. He will suit the rustic demeanor of this quaint Ma and Pa shop perfectly. You are to assist him and use that famous charm of yours to ensure its success, eh?"

Jim bit his lower lip, pent frustration mustered behind bleak irises.

"I can sense your nervousness." Alarmed, pale eyes darted upwards to match his employer's, "However, I will expect nothing less than greatness if you are to accept this task. Surprisingly, you two make an incredibly efficient sales team, functioning well as a duo while sharing similar tactics. Cooperate on this sales call like I know you can. That is all I ask Jim, unless you are uncomfortable."

Immediately, the shaggy brunette's hands splayed wildly in a disarming gesture,

"No, no Sir, I'm not nervous! Why would I be-" Before waiting, a thick finger pressed against his forehead, causing nausea to pool in the pit of Jim's stomach as Robert continued his narration,

"I cannot make you go on this sale call. What is done depends solely on you, Mr. Halpert. Will you choose to go?" His sea grey eyes pierced a part of Jim, washing over his senses with a type of unexplainable mysticism that both entranced and terrified him.

"Yes." The faint reply echoed in his head, unconscious that he had so easily complied with Jo's intimidating Sabre CEO replacement.

"Good man. I did not make that choice; you did Jim. Now that this is settled, leave." The intense personality of the Regional Manager disturbed the office on multiple levels. Yet the enigma of his genius and that sought after desire to be considered worthy of Mr. California's time stilled Jim Halpert to quiet acceptance. The overqualified corporate officer departed into his enclosed space, relieving the atmosphere of his creepily perceptive nature.

Eyebrows knitting in confusion, Jim's lean frame arose, noiselessly retreating to his own cubicle.

"So…how'd it go?" Ah, his sweet wife was calling, concern displayed upon her rosy complexion.

"I shouldn't have expected anything different Pam."

"What happened?" She asked gently, setting down a pen in order to focus. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Jim muttered,

"Of all things, Robert California has ordered me and Dwight to go on some remote sales pitch to the middle of nowhere!"

"Eastern Pennsylvania is not the middle of nowhere. You should know that Jim." Dwight staunchly contradicted, rounding the corner in order to access his own belongings, "Now pack your things, kiss your wife goodbye then prepare for departure."

Bristling ever so slightly, Jim nodded,

"Will do." Pursing his lips in agreement, Dwight smugly sauntered off with his briefcase,

"I'll go rev up my beauty."

"Ugh," Jim groaned, "Can you believe I'll be stuck in that beat up old car for half the day with him?"

"Come on," Pam urged, "Believe me, it could be worse."

"Yeah but complaining makes me feel better," Jim quipped, pretending to pout. At this act of childishness, their pealing laughter broke the relatively silent cubicle room.

"Keep it down, will you?" Stanley huffed from his counter, "Some of us are _trying_ to work."

"Sure thing," Kindly backing down, Jim logged out of his computer session and pushed back from his desk, "I was just leaving anyways." Grabbing his suitcase, he rose. Surprising his wife by a swift peck on the lips, he murmured before pulling away,

"I'll see you at home." With that, he trotted to the doorway, whipped a jacket off the coat rack and made a final wave to his heart's beloved who shook her curly head in amusement and resumed sales.


	2. Impressions are Often Misleading

_Let's see how their obscene car ride turns out :)_

_Please stay with me, what you have been waiting for is about to begin!_

_The Office _(U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 2: _Impressions are Often Misleading_**

* * *

Twenty minutes into the journey down Route 6, Dwight continued to speed with his passenger through the extensive, scenic northern tier. Bypassing the valley of Scranton and its suburbs, the ancient vehicle followed the I-84 bestride the Susquehanna River, a mountainous high way famous for its observation of lakes and forest wildlife. The Poconos region had always been densely wooded, the endless mountains serving as a prime location for national parks, ski resorts and recreational destinations.

The most suitable form of transit through this remote location was by car, which suited their venture wonderfully. They were making great progress, hitting Ariel Lake, the halfway marker, eight minutes ahead of schedule. Jim found himself relaxing, actually enjoying the trip. Upon viewing the evening twinkle atop natural spring water fizzing in the distance, the passenger experienced tranquility. Despite having to put up with classic rock blaring from a cassette player, he found himself content to watch the beautiful world flash by.

The glittering surface peeking out from an evergreen vale beckoned memories of summer fishing trips to his grandparent's private cabin. It too was lost within the recesses of the mountain along with fragments of a pleasant childhood. He recalled passing this lake dozens of times, roaring out lyrics and participating in an alphabetical word game in the back seat with his older brothers.

Fondly, Jim smiled. He never was all that good at the silly ABC tournament, easily frustrating himself while his siblings scored higher and higher. Confident that they had an advantage because they were a few centimeters taller, Jim often lost amid triumphant high-fives, sometimes dolling out unsportsmanlike blows until his brothers teamed up against him. But it had all been in clean, wholesome fun, causing him to reflect on a much simpler time.

As Ariel Lake disappeared from site, a pang of sadness hit. Man, he missed home. How long had it been? A few months, three years? The Halpert clan had relocated to upstate New York ages ago while Jim remained stuck in Scranton pursuing his career in paper.

Sighing, Jim glanced at his flat-faced leather watch.

"Two thirty-five, exactly," The driver announced, "You can thank me later for my cartographical expertise."

"I'll be sure to do that." Jim chuckled, folding up the cuffs of his shirt to his elbows due to the stuffy atmosphere of the '87 Pontiac, "We actually made great time! Shouldn't we be there in ten minutes?"

"More or less." Hawley was an accessible drive meandering through winding, steep mountain paths with nonexistent traffic. Dwight knew this, having visited relatives in the heart of Amish Lancaster County. Most city folk avoided the mountains as if from a plague. Dwight viewed that mentality absurd and deemed suburban life as a frivolous necessity. The delusional beet farmer was grateful only for internet at his homestead and the urban districts which from time to time rallied in conventions and conferences for Battlestar Galatia and numerous other science-fiction fandoms he followed.

* * *

Just as Robert had said, the building was quaint. The potted daisies were a cheerful addition. Yellow petals bobbed lazily in the autumn breeze, their fragrance lining the smooth sandstone pavement that led up to a bleached porch. While climbing worn stairs, Jim became inwardly pleased by a charming brass bell which dangled from the teal door handle. Indeed, the place reeked of nostalgia and grandmothers.

Giving a sharp rap on the wood, Dwight stepped back. A plumb, middle-aged woman appeared behind a screen. Finding visitors, she alerted her husband who joined her in heartily welcoming both men. Enviously, Jim forced himself into the office without sitting on one of the cherry rockers reclining upon the veranda. Narrow yet somehow cozy, a hall trailed throughout the office, connecting a few rooms to the main lobby where the lady served as receptionist. A floral couch bent under the weight of the two gentlemen as the unknown corporation head pulled a thin oak chair up to the glass-plated coffee table.

"Please, make yourselves at home!" He cheerfully warbled, "Do you like it? My wife, little Susan over there, designed the whole place." Pride was evident, almost comical due to the man's own muscular and rough exterior amongst such a dainty vicinity, "Coffee, tea?"

Dwight enthusiastically accepted, holding china up for the man to pour Darjeeling over the two sugar cubs settled at the base of his cup. Jim appreciatively sipped on a freshly brewed mug of amaretto. Spying the chap biting into a sliver of coffee cake, a compliment fell from coffee-tinged lips,

"Thank you so much, this place is lovely." The homeowner surged, joy spreading unrestrained. Soon after, glazed cutlery came to rest on a coaster set.

"Now then," The burly man pulled out a notebook and official looking pen, "I suppose we are ready to begin?"

* * *

"Oh yeah, we did it!" Throwing up his hands, Dwight's index and pinky extended while the remaining fingers formed a bull, assisting his announcement,

"Jimmy H, everybody, yow!" In return, Jim pumped his hand in a triumphant fist,

"Rock on." Even his composed manner crumpled over the successful outturn. Having sealed a merger with their competition, the pair strode confidently into the parking lot. Exiting the picturesque storefront, Dwight no longer could contain his enthusiasm,

"Really, I'm impressed Jim. The way you swayed that meeting in Dunder Mifflin's favor while providing for that struggling business…how did you do it?"

"Oh you know, all in a day's work." Though praise bolstered within his chest, Jim simply shrugged, feeling as though in a minute he would be caught whistling.

"It touched my heart strings." Dwight's expression was dead serious, "There has to be a secret." Unused to such profusions from his typical enemy, Jim noticed how his cheeks were burning hot. He fidgeted with his suitcase, slinging the strap over one shoulder as they progressed closer towards Dwight's car.

"Nope, there isn't. I've been in that sort of situation before, you know? So I know how it feels when you're stuck at the end of a bad deal."

"Yeah but you are so sincere, offering the lowest prices possible and presenting an ultimatum only when we almost lost his bid. I don't get it. If it were me, I would have slammed them with everything I had so that they would be begging to have my business!"

"Hahaha, well that's one tactic…but I've noticed that people respond better to kindness. Plus it helps when they can tell you actually care. Too many corporations are only interested in sucking up their consumers' paychecks instead of catering to their needs."

"It's the flow of supply and demand," The German stated, digging for his keys in a loose pocket, "Well for one thing, I'm going to demand Robert give you a raise when we get back."

"What? No, really, don't!" Jim sputtered, "It was the least I could do, you know, just doing my job. I would have really hated to run that family shop out of business. Their agreement to merge as one of DM's local paper supply outlets was wise. Win-win for us all."

"Win-win-win," Dwight quoted, unlocking his car, "Only because you made them an offer they couldn't refuse."

"Alright, alright," Jim threw up his hands in mock embarrassment before sliding into his seat, "Enough-no more Godfather jokes, okay?"

"Fine Jim, ruin a solid phrase like that. You just have no respect, no respect."

"Now you're quoting Rodney Dangerfield."

"And why not? He's a stand up guy, an epic comedian." Dwight argued, tugging his belt strap downwards.

"As he was a standup comedian, I have to agree." The play on words lit up a twinkle in his companion's eyes which he immediately crushed by harsh advice, "Just don't ever say epic again."

"Ha hah, very funny! But guess what genius?" Dwight watched as Jim expectantly turned his attention to the insignia-stamped rectangular piece of paper fixed between two knuckles, "You forgot to hand them our business card!"

"What!" Exclaimed Jim, patting his pant legs and shirt to make sure the one he had saved especially for these clients was no longer there, "Really? I thought for sure I…"

"Well you didn't. Go ring their stupid little bell while I rev up the engine."

"Yeah, thanks man. You really saved us there." It would have been such a shame to have forgotten to do so, all appearances of quality and professionalism washed down the drain by a single mistake.

Jim fled the vehicle, almost sprinting back to the office before their closing hours. In the meantime, Dwight twiddled his thumbs, stuffing a tiny company card into the cigarette burner. All of a sudden, a light bulb seemed to go off in his head, for Dwight unbuckled himself and exited his precious car. Patting the slick metal sides, Dwight made his way to the trunk and unlocked the compartment.

* * *

Pattering footsteps sounded. Dwight decided to look up from what he was rummaging through as his name was called out. Now Jim had closed the distance in a few yards, proving his athletic claims as valid. Still two feet away, Dwight quickly chucked his angular briefcase inside, tucking it below a small Persian rug lining the garbage-filled basin. Although it was an expensive material, concern and comfort for his farm's livestock and personal pets, such as Henrietta the porcupine, far exceeded price tabs.

"They take it?" Slamming the trunk shut, Dwight twisted the keys to the right, confirming that his equipment was secure.

"Uh huh," Jim nodded, beaming while regaining his breath, "And what nice people. They handed me a plate of cookies to share with you. See, look!" Celafain wrapping fell away from balls of dough still piping hot with chocolate oozing from the center, "Want one?"

"Do I want glucose filling up my lower intestines?" Dwight asked incredulously, sneering at the plastic tray of baked delights, "I'd rather not."

"Your loss," Jim munched cheerfully, "I'm sure Pam and Cici will love them!" The mention of family made him think of the warm meal and side of affection he was bound to experience after a hard day's work. Rounding the car, Jim hopped into the driver's seat and clicked his seat belt into place.

"Get out." Shocked by the rude command, Jim almost dropped the plate of unwanted cookies,

"But…don't you usually sit behind the driver's seat?" A thick eyebrow rose in question as Jim listened to Dwight's explanation,

"Did I drive up here in the back seat? No." Grumbling, he continued to rant, "For your information, although it is the safest location in a moving car, today I've had to transport us all over town. No, no, I don't want you offering to take the wheel. Why? Because I don't trust your driving capabilities, simple as that! Besides, it'd be better if I drove instead of shouting directions. Be a good citizen and move to the passenger side."

Despite initially moving to the steering wheel in order to repay the weary employee's kindness only to be scorned, Jim was impressed. Dwight was being logical for once, albeit a little rude compared to the rest of their decently enjoyable business trip.

* * *

Pulling out of the parking lot, the duo hopped onto the reversed highway which directed the pair back towards Scranton. While the miles racked up on the meter, the two occupants drove silently, satisfied amid the peace and quiet of country life. Countless acres stormed by dotted with sheep and grazing black cows. Jim could see why Dwight adored that farm of his. It seemed that if by magic, dreams flowed seamlessly with the notion of cultivating produce out in open fields under clear skies. Out here, away from the commotion of city life, you could truly breathe in the bounty of the land.

Quietly at first, the taunt chords of Van Halen soon manifested into a bombardment of harsh noise. Caught in the scenic reverie, Jim had not realized when Dwight had slipped out an old cassette tape from the dashboard and pushed it into the outdated player. While the first tape blared away, Dwight was busy blowing through the twin holes of another, attempting to unsettle collected dust which had been caught between the plastic rims. He gave up shortly afterwards, knowing it would work just fine unlike CDs which were unusable after a minor scratch.

Air-guitaring every so often, Dwight rocked out, capable of multitasking on the road. At first, Jim was a bit worried however apprehension soon dissolved due to the lack of cars. As the rhythm took hold of him, he found himself humming along with "Everybody Wants Some!" while nodding his head to the heavy guitar-driven track. The unapologetic carnal celebration thriving upon a jungle bass and drum tempo led the driver to note that it was a classic.

A faint smile lingered upon Jim Halpert's thin lips, the crook drawn up ever so slightly. Mentally he agreed, tapping a finger absentmindedly against his thigh. The travel home seemed to melt, carried away by hit after hit of hard rock melodies as the 1987 Pontiac Trans Am strolled through Pennsylvania's cultivated pastoral landscape.

* * *

Beads of perspiration had formed upon the flat, milky brow of Dwight Shrute who was still caught up head banging crazily in the front seat. After thirty minutes transpired, Jim commented,

"You might want to tone it down a bit. Wouldn't want to snap your neck or anything, would you?" Sneering at Jim's gesture of goodwill, Dwight grudgingly complied, sinking back into the mesh fabric covering the vehicle's interior. Decidedly bored, the glasses-bearer resorted to counting hay bales which littered the rustic outcropping. Sighing after losing interest in his pathetic attempt of entertainment, Dwight's long-held patience suddenly burst into a series of complaints.

"It's too stuffy in here Jim! Time to cool off." He cranked the temperature knob to the coldest level then leaned over to lower the glass planes trapping heat inside the van.

"No, no, don't roll the windows down-that'll only make it hotter!" Jim warned, stilling Dwight's forearm which had flown from the steering wheel with his right hand in order to prevent the hapless chauffeur from creating an accident.

"Okay fine you chicken, I'll keep them closed." The road demanded his full attention thus Dwight obeyed, "But I claim all the vents!"

"Sure, take the vents," Jim conceded, nonchalantly eyeing how Dwight instantly rotated all the slated metal apertures directly towards his pear-shaped torso.

"After all, we don't want you to get heatstroke." Jim happily added as the vehicle swerved off an exit ramp and onto the main farm road. Astonished that their conversation had remained sweet for such a long duration, Jim cut his one-liners and gazed out the window yet again.

"Hey, can you find us directions?" The request did not occur until much later. Yet all the same, it startled a day dreaming Jim, whose chin shifted off knuckles in order to state his confusion,

"Huh…er, why?"

"The sun is setting. Obviously, it's hard to see the map." Due to its mention, this was the first time Jim observed a vividly colored booklet spread over Dwight's lap.

"I thought you had the route memorized."

"I do, Jim." Dwight snapped, "However, combined with dusk, the length of our trip and that meeting, I'm exhausted. Really tuckered out."

"That's a strange word-tuckered-yeah, I don't like it." Jim prattled, throwing a dubious smirk at the driver who became bewildered once his diction was criticized,

"But…I guess so." Sympathetic, Jim finally relented, "I thought you didn't trust technology. What if I get us lost?"

"You'll suffice." There it was. Now it was all too easy for sarcasm to slip out,

"Well, only because I suffice." Unaware of Jim's displeasure, Dwight shoved the map into his companion's face. Laughing, Jim snagged it and crumpled the map into a ball, tossing it over his shoulder as he pulled out an Iphone.

Once they had neared the outskirts of Scranton, the landscape became familiar and no longer imposing. He could not have asked for a lovelier day. And it continued to be so until events strangely began to sour.


	3. Blind as Those Who Will Not See

_And so it begins._

_The Office (U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway. _

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Blind as Those Who Will Not See**_

* * *

Ahead, a red light flashed. Rolling to a stop at the intersection, Dwight observed that the pressure of traffic and heavy smog vacated small country towns such as this. Only one car, an aged Volkswagen, chugged to a halt facing the much older Pontiac carrying two salesmen home after a tiresome yet productive day.

Loosening his tie, Dwight exhaled. Even Jim had to admit how sticky the car had become in the autumn humidity. Copying his companion's strategy, the lengthy individual rolled his cuffs, taking a moment to check MapQuest on his phone.

"Hey Dwight, I think we took the wrong exit. Yeah, back over by McCarthy Avenue." Highways, with their numerous loops and crisscrossing patterns, are notorious for causing an unwary traveler to become lost. Rural highways in Pennsylvania took it to another level altogether. Riding through pastures, street junctions and small towns, the pair had unknowingly been circling outside of their hometown for a while now.

"Don't worry about it, I recognize the terrain." Brushing off concern, Dwight volunteered, "I wager we are not but fifteen minutes away from Schrute farms. We could head that way."

"All the same," Jim said, "I'd be more comfortable if we found a gas station and asked for directions."

"You sure? I know a short cut." Without questioning it, Dwight shifted into first gear and spun a U-turn to satisfy Jim, "Alright. I thought I spotted a Chevron a few streets back."

Dayton, Madison and Lafayette Street blurred past and in minutes, the joint gas and 7Ups station came into view. With the store meters down the road, an unforeseen accident occurred.

"Ah my eyes!" Dwight screeched, his hands flying off the steering wheel in the process. Fortunately, Jim intercepted the spinning device while Dwight continued to rub fiercely at his stinging nasal passage. The bobbling car swerved onto an embankment, spraying gravel and grass particles everywhere, churning beneath the weight of thread-bare wheels. Brought to a standstill, the Pontiac jolted, rocking its inhabitants as Jim successfully pulled off into the emergency lane.

"What's wrong with you?" He exclaimed, "We could have crashed!"

"Oh come off it Jim," Glaring with crimson-streaked corneas, Dwight whined, "I have the hand-eye coordination of an osprey. But ah my eyes! They're bloodshot! Quick, quick; get some water!"

"All I have is Coke."

"You're good for nothing! Go get my suitcase."

"And where might that be?" Jim asked sardonically, not spying the case in the front compartment or resting on the interior back seating.

"Look in the trunk, idiot." Ordered like a bellhop, Jim sat resolute, not desiring to fetch the suitcase like an average mongrel. Instead, he fiddled with his seatbelt. When his passenger did not instantly heed his call, Dwight continued on, his pitch strained,

"I can't see Jim, I really can't! I think I might be going blind." He sounded so pitiful and how Jim did hate the unceasing dirge that would not stop until Dwight got his way. Thus he complied, not seeing the point of arguing a lost cause. Exiting out of the passenger side, Jim passed oblivious to the coy smile creeping along his co-worker's face.

* * *

Reaching the trunk, Jim began to unlatch the rear door.

"It's not open. You have to unlock it for me first." Dwight's idiocy annoyed him to no end. Hearing a soft pop, Jim finally heaved the trunk upwards. He balanced the weight of the frame with a palm while his other hand rummaged through Chinese take-out boxes, sweaty hakama robes, rotting debris and miscellaneous tackle and equine gear.

Blanching at the odor, the salesman bravely searched for the elusive suitcase. Peering out at the scene from his rearview mirror and assessing that enough time had transpired, Dwight casually slipped out of his seat.

"I can't find it Dwight!" Unaware of a presence sneaking behind him, Jim shouted, "Are you sure it's even in here?" Abruptly, he fell forward. His wrists were wrenched back, pulled at an awkward angle. The next second, the cool metal of handcuffs belonging to a deputy sheriff clamped down.

"Hey! What are you-mpph!" Wildly, blue eyes searched for the assailant behind him as a meaty hand covered his mouth. Upon recognizing the predator, his irises expanded in shock. Before Jim could get a sentence out, an unfastened tie descended over his eyes, blocking his vision by silk taupe and mustard gold.

"Quiet, you." Tightening the fabric with a severe yank, Dwight secured his hostage's blindfold before forcing Jim's elongated neck even further below the hood. Panic swarmed the athletic man, confinement prompting him to flee. Swiftly Jim arched, propelling himself backwards only to be pinned between a warm body and the hard surface of the car. Amidst the minor scuffle, hands were everywhere-gripping his arms, raising kicking heels and hauling his main torso ever upwards. At one point, the soles of his leather shoes left the ground.

Fighting proved ineffective for the more he struggled, the blinded captive continued to provide better leverage. Disoriented and confused, Jim was still trying to comprehend that he was being captured by his fellow salesman. The situation was precarious as it was absurd. In less than two minutes and fifteen seconds, the victim's lithe body had been lifted and shoved into the trunk despite muffled screams.

Locking the trunk with a click, Dwight surveyed the abandoned roadway. Praising his good fortune, Dwight patted his car's metal edge almost affectionately. Humming a simple child's tune, the engine gurgled into life and slowly, the cryptic vehicle sauntered away under a low hanging moon.


	4. A Kite Against the Wind

I'm pleased this story already has so many views. Enjoy!

Copyright:

The Office (U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 4: A Kite Against the Wind**

* * *

The world was dark and silent like an undiscovered tomb, hushed and motionless. Fragments of light penetrated the dim atmosphere, drawing the cataleptic into brilliant consciousness. The comatose state shed like molting scales, drooping from shut eyelids. Awakening disheveled, Jim blinked. Creaked eyes were greeted by the imposing interior of a barn. Wrapped in murky smoke, silhouettes of rakes, neatly stacked hay-bales, horse stalls, numerous instruments and agricultural tools lined the walls.

A sharp ache racked his brain. Reaching to soothe his forehead, his hand was immediately brought down. In reality, it had not even budged. An expression of surprise flitted across the adult's handsome features as he struggled to stir his limbs. No lee-way was achieved for multiple cords of rope looped about his ankles and hands, entwining under his armpits and around his torso. The twisted three-strand material chaffed against his wrists, posing the question of how long he had been fastened to the wooden chair he was seated upon.

Though his mind was clouded, Jim fondly recalled David Wallace's furniture modeled with an identical design. Concluding that this was probably the exact brand Dwight had admired so much ruined his appreciation for the artistry. Sight traveling up from the carved wood, Jim spotted the tail of his blindfold. It had slipped from his eyes onto the bridge of his nose, still in the way of speaking but now spilling onto his chest.

As he sat strapped in the gloom, the only preoccupation available was to stare at the thrushing floor strewn with hay, clumps of earth, and animal droppings. The smell of manure and fresh produce hung in the humid air, increasing discomfort to the senses. Groggily, his vision adjusted further, shifting into focus on a darker spot residing in the corner. He squinted, creasing his blue eyes in order to survey more intently.

Follicles along his nape began to rise, his body signaling that someone or something was stalking him. From his vantage point, Jim realized he was a sitting duck, bound and helpless out in the open without the ability to hide. Everything was shrouded in a haze of dust which filtered throughout the gloom. But then, particles formed, morphing into a full figure waiting in the shadows.

Jim peered forward, eyes narrowing in the dark. Then the shadow moved. Startled, the man gave a faint cry of fright when the swollen visage of Dwight K. Schrute illuminated in front of him. Suddenly hyper-aware of the thick leather and coarse ropes strapping him into the chair, Jim jostled in his restraints,

"You! W-what is this?" Muffled by fabric, the accusation sounded pitiful. Hovering close to the fettered prisoner, Dwight was silent. Gazing at him, unblinking and refusing to answer. Soon, a thin, yellowed row of teeth broke into an eerie smile. Initiated by the allegation, an unreadable look encompassed all within Jim's direct line of sight.

"What's so funny?" He demanded, spitting the tie away from his moth, "Seriously Dwight, what is this! Are you playing some kind of sick joke?" His tone, no longer limited, rang clear and angry.

"No, silly. A joke would be humorous. Do you see my face?" The disturbing smile disappeared and was replaced by Dwight's usual scowl, "I'm not laughing."

* * *

"You must be wondering why I've brought you here." Steps fell, one after another in a sluggish fashion, spinning in slow circles about the barnyard,

"Well…if you must know," Pivoting, the man fumed in an acidic flavor, "This is payback Jim! For all of those petty jokes and unreasonable pranks; the pile of felonies you masterminded specifically to cause me years of humiliation, constant stress and ridicule."

"Wait, what are you-" Cut off, Jim watched as the spouting individual dashed towards him,

"_Shut up_! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Dwight yelled, banging his fist against the chair's backing as spittle flew from his screaming orifice, "It's because of you that I am never promoted! Did you _know_ that I'm unable to progress in my career because of you? I'm not even taken seriously in the office anymore! And, why do you ask? Oh I'll tell you why!"

"I didn't ask." That did it. Taking a step back, Dwight dramatically gripped a fist of his victim's honey-tinted hair in the process. Agonizingly, he pulled at the strands, his rage winding out of control,

"You purposefully undermine my authority every chance you get! You are the source of all my pain. My dreams have been dashed because of you!"

"Dwight, I think you're taking things a-a little out of hand," Jim winced, his head wretched to the side by the irrational being looming overhead.

"You know, I don't think so." Hot liquid splattered across his neck, clinging to his skin in a disgusting manner. The spit sickened Jim, causing his ears to burn at the disgraceful offence. Apparently Dwight thought the insult was justified, declaring as if he were a heroic underdog,

"Your shenanigans have gone on long enough. Even when Michael was in charge, you abused your charm and wit. Now it's just the same between you and Robert California. Can't you understand how frustrated that has made me?" His breath ghosted close to Jim's face whose eyes were open like a doe's despite the tension brutalizing the roots of his hair.

"I'm most upset about one thing though," Dwight announced, gripping tighter to strain Jim's neck out, "You tarnished my highest achievement. Yes, you prevented Michael from recognizing me as his rightful second in command. But you're nothing. _I_ am the Assistant Regional Manager." Though ruffled and spitted upon, Jim could not help but joke,

"Assistant _to_ the Regional Manager." Imprudent, this wise-crack sent his bitter associate into a flurry,

"Oh you're such a funny guy, you know that? False! I've had enough of your sass Jim; it's time to enact my vengeance."

Stinging blows fell rapidly upon unguarded cheeks the second Dwight released his fist. Unblemished skin began to swell, puffing up with each strike. The flat of a hand bearing a university ring slapped dangerously close to an eye. Jim remained still and took the punishment, having learned that resistance often motivated opponents to further acts of aggression. Besides, there was little he could do in his trapped predicament. In a few minutes, bruises would form purple and grotesque. Yet a few marks were nothing to be concerned about.

A sudden punch to the stomach lurched Jim's wandering mind into focus, causing him to wheeze as air escaped all too rapidly from his lungs. Hit after hit pelted his abdomen which was presented to his captor, outstretched by the chair that forced Jim upright.

"How'd you like that, pretty boy?" Dwight taunted, seeming to dance as his forearms darted into his prisoner's side, each smack harder than the last.

"What a-f-fair fight," Jim grunted, the swing of Dwight's arm unrelenting, "If you… were the warrior you-think you are, w-we'd be fighting for real."

"We already have. Or don't you remember our war?" Momentarily pausing, Dwight's eyes shone at the choice opportunity this conversation led to.

"What war?" One particular blow split a bloated lip, warm blood dribbling down his chin as Dwight hoisted him forward by his collar,

"It's pointless to even fight with you. Sad really. I'm a master at Goju Ryu karate so you're obviously not on my level. But even if you did practice the sacred art, I've already beaten you once before. Even if you could best me at any skill set or activity it doesn't matter. I am far greater because I know you're afraid of me."

"No I'm not," Jim laughed outright, eyes shining with mirth, "You're just a big baby with weird hobbies that no one cares about." The site was almost comical. Under pressure, the situation was like a blacksmith observing stubborn iron bravely challenge an anvil during the process of converting its frame into scrap metal.

"Say what you will," Not impressed by Jim's bravado, Dwight stated, "But in the end, I know it's true. Classy Christmas ring a bell?" Eyes widening, spread in very real fright, Jim stiffened. Spying his growing anxiety, Dwight reminisced brazenly,

"Remember a Christmas, long, long ago? A little boy assumed he was clever. So he decided to smash snow into the face of a passive citizen…aka me! Declaring a snowball fight, he thought he would win. But oh, he was wrong. He was dead wrong. A crazy spiel of laughter bubbled up, chilling Jim to the bone.

"I never accepted your plea for surrender. You refused to attack your wife thus you lost-" Briefly, Jim retorted,

"I don't regret it," He shook his head, remembering the bizarre request that may have enabled him to achieve an armistice, "If you were married, maybe you'd understand. Besides, you wanted to watch me hit her in the face! Who in their right mind would do that?"

"No matter. There is an unfinished snowball fight left to wage. And this time, I'm no longer using snow." Calmly, Dwight began to pat Jim's discolored cheek. Breath hitching at the change, Jim twisted away yet he was unable to avoid fingers pressing into his mottled flesh. Biting his lower lip, not caring that the slit opened wider, Jim concealed the pangs that shot through his jaw as Dwight mentioned,

"How poorly you fared. Now that I think about it, you look similar to that day. Yes, that's right! I bloodied your nose then too." A thumb slowly traveled over onto his bottom lip, toying with the open wound.

"You were no match for the snowmen army that had lain in wait for you that the Christmas party was a huge success too, one of the best even. Hah, can you believe Pam even had to drag you halfway outside the office just to get home?" Playing with the cracked skin, Dwight knew that Jim was trying not to express any signal of weakness. So his reverie continued,

"I remember how scared stiff you were, bashing defenseless snowmen left and right. You thought I'd pop out of one like last time, no doubt. But I wasn't there, was I? I was on the roof." Jim shot his usual look of pensive confusion, eyebrows entwining,

"You…were? What for?"

"To instill fear into your heart."

The indicative reply transported Jim back to that fateful winter's eve. Horror gripped him, the flash back reminding Jim how terrified he was all day, not knowing when to suspect an ambush. Countless times Dwight had mercilessly bombarded Jim before his co-workers' judgmental eyes. They had just laughed. Others blamed him for their disruptive antics, although he only wanted to keep Dwight's rampage at bay. Morning had been the worst besides their final encounter that evening. He was to meet Dwight outside for their battle, stationed at noon in the parking lot. The second he stepped outside, instinctively he sensed something was amiss. Turning, Mr. Halpert was shocked that the handles of the building had been locked by iron chains without him noticing. Whipping around, Jim was unable to avoid the stack of ice firing his direction only a few meters off.

The concrete had been frozen. He knew because his body had curled in submission to the ground due to the relentless volley of hard-packed snow. After crouching in the parking lot, shivering yet fearful to rise, Jim had remained in the fetus position at the Scranton branch's doorsteps. Dwight had stood with one leg atop him, as if he were an exotic game trophy brought down during an imperial hunt. A half hour ticked by. However, Jim could not gather his bearing although Dwight had departed speedily afterwards to plan his next attack. After regaining his breath slightly, Jim hobbled upwards. Brushing snow from his favorite winter coat, he ambled into the upstairs office. Eyes glazed, Jim did not realize that his bleeding nose had stained the blue collar of his shirt until he was back at the party.

"Ah, I see you remember now." Dwight murmured with a dark glint in his eyes, "I recommend you engrave that sensation of fear into your brain. Otherwise, you may experience something less than pleasant."

"Oh like this is enjoyable?" Cynicism hinted that Jim's usually reserved and kind nature had become dismantled.

"Okay, you know what? I cannot have a subordinate trying to make me look stupid! I did not become a Lackawanna County volunteer sheriff's deputy to make friends or babysit losers. And by the way, I haven't done either." The prior trance broken, Jim was unable not to chuckle.

"Don't make me do this the hard way." A palm rose in warning yet rebellion had already set in.

"What's the hard way?" Jim snapped, revolted at Dwight's very presence, "Everything you do annoys me. Just let me go. Why bother putting up with this when we could go back and act as though none of this even happened?"

"Correction. It did happen. Furthermore, all those years of pranks and foiling my plans to deteriorate Andy's happiness with Angela have consumed me. I burn with wrath. Revenge shall be mine!"

"You sound like a broken record - vengeance this, rage that." It was truly Jim's turn to snigger, gloating at his co-worker's lack of social protocol, "When are you going to join the twenty-first century?" To this, Dwight did not have an answer. His lip quivered for a second indecisively, torn between answering and opening himself up to another sly comeback. He chose against giving Jim the opportunity to make fun of his quirky nature, shifting the conversation to a former point in their relationship,

"Once you told me we were strong. You said we'd be unstoppable because we had formed an alliance. But you broke my trust; and I've had to pay dearly for your betrayal. Countless times I have been made the fool due to your treachery but no longer! I have become strong Jim, stronger than you."

Circling prey like a leopard creeping through the slopes of Burma, feral eyes locked onto his target. Gaining ground, a hand simultaneously drifted up to his shirt's front pocket and retrieved a miniscule object. Curiosity drove Jim to question what it might be. Waiting was not required for without another moment, a thin blade chinked in the darkness.

The slow approach was excruciating. Apprehension and a myriad of terrible possibilities shirked Jim as he sat rooted to his post. Dwight finally drew up besides his captive. Shooting a defiant glare, the young man was utterly oblivious to the knife's intentions.

"I'll soon rid that smug look off your face." The scalpel flashed, here, there, gone and back like vapor twirling before a fire. Rip! A jagged slash split the seams of Jim's casual polo. Soon the long sleeves lacing his forearms were to be mutilated with stripes as well. Often, the tip would closely nick beneath, tearing portions of pristine white cloth but never puncturing the skin. Nervously, Jim analyzed how long that status would last.

Legitimately concerned, Jim froze in position with baited breath, fearing that he would end up on the evening news like one of those homicide victims stolen by some lunatic. Currently, his situation was not far off. Dread started to surface into reality with each progressive slice.

* * *

Not being able to look elsewhere, Jim silently watched as his shirt was carved to pieces, the cold blade finally making contact with his body while it trailed up his torso. Dwight held the handle steadily, choosing to skim over visible skin which was no longer shrouded by white cloth. The German offhandedly drove the razor lower, wondering what response the pressure would receive. As if delighting in the shallow intake of breath issuing forth, the sharp edge dug further into the man's left bicep then to his scapula before flying away.

Spongy and wet, a tongue dipped into an incision at the breastbone, the organ wildly flinging about. The sensation, unfamiliar and cruel, evoked a hiss. Blood suckling may be considered a seductive tactic perhaps, yet Jim felt nothing but humiliation and shame. Exactly the emotion which was sought.

"How can you do this to me?" Anger surged from the one impaired, flaring up in a warped expression, "This is _so_ wrong. I've known you for over five years! Have-have you no morals?"

"Justice and the Baha'i Faith of which I share do not relate to this issue." Dwight offered, delving deeper into the tissue. Groaning, Jim could not quell the sting. Stuck under the mercy of an unforgiving blade and a searching tongue, he shook.

Filled of the metallic liquid, Dwight smudged the remains with the back of his hand while sadistically winking at Jim. The victim's head tilted, his lip curled back in disdain,

"You're sick."

"And you're stupid. It was all too easy to snare such an ignorant buffoon like yourself into the trap I've had planned for half a year. By the way, I gave ample heads up. I can't believe you didn't catch on! In the very least, I expected you to think my behavior yesterday was out of the ordinary."

"I thought you had turned a new leaf and that…" Embarrassed to admit his partial hopes, especially considering the circumstance, Jim still chose to confess, "Well, I thought that we finally became friends."

"As if! Once I vow to ruin a man's life, I do not go back on my word. And as I have you already in my clutches, your family is the only thing left to destroy." The revelation was too much. Congested, Jim's heart thudded heavily within its cavity.

"You-you would commit murder?" The question fell heavy as iron, answered by steel,

"I am not that ruthless. However, I can destroy your precious life in other ways." Wiping his bloody hands on Jim's front, staining both skin and torn cotton, Dwight stood haughty before him,

"Who knows? Maybe I'll console Pam through this trying situation."

"Leave Pam out of this!" Jim warned, his threat sounding empty as he could not back it up physically at the moment.

"Your devotion to mischief at the office is to relieve boredom, is it not? Pam assists too, don't think I haven't realized her affiliation with a trouble maker like you." A headache for an entirely new symptom arose as he implored,

"She's not involved, I promise!" His perspective was waved off by a hand,

"No? Here's proof: listing absurd medical conditions, causing me to believe my credit cards have been compromised, posting my resume online asking for an Alaskan relocation amongst numerous other infractions. It's a wonder I don't go after her as well. It might even out the score."

"You wouldn't."

"I would." He sounded thoughtful, as though inspired by some epiphany, "Come to think of it, with you out of the picture, Pam would be devastated. She'd be in need of someone whom she trusts. A loyal friend to soothe her. A warm body to replace the gaping void in her life. The hole which was once filled by a husband who instead abandoned his wife and child. A man who is nowhere to be found." Growls slipped from a constrained throat, the man transforming into a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. Dwight chuckled, his hand fanning out as if he saw a grand vision shining in the near future,

"I can imagine it now-little Pammy all alone and depressed because of the desertion of her darling pickle. That's your stupid nickname, right? Anyhow, she'll be overwhelmed with grief." He turned enthusiastically to address an invisible audience,

"At first I will be a model gentleman, nothing but comforting and supportive. Delivering baked lasagna and Grandmother Gorch's famous casserole covered with limburger cheese every week. Performing yard work out of the goodness of my heart. When everyone forgets to pity her-and let's face it, people move on quickly when a circumstance does not concern them. But I'll still be there by her side." He closed his eyes, placing an adamant fist over his heart center before refocusing on his sole spectator,

"Women need love Jim; they desperately crave it, don't let anyone tell you differently. And how she will adore such large equipment, crying out my name instead of yours."

"Stop, stop! Quit talking." Jim barked, immensely upset. Yet Dwight pressed onwards, describing what he would do to his coworker's wife in graphic detail all the while Jim could not block the images from entering his unwilling eardrums.

"She has always been so gentle and kind, rather like a good horse or faithful dog. I bet she's fun in bed, right? A real lady always is. They seem to be starved of animalistic tendencies…it's a good thing I'm a farmer for I know how to _care_ for livestock. Yes, I'm just a normal guy who enjoys retribution. And this plot suits me perfectly." Proudly, the stout man stood with his hands planted on his hips.

"Don't you dare come near her, you freak!"

"Come now Jim, there's no need to holler. I'd probably show her the best time she's ever experienced. Clearly your sexual functions are inferior-you cannot even give her a son!"

"_Excuse me_?" Jim asked, bewildered, "Maybe we wanted a daughter? Huh, ever think of that?"

"Please. I know you didn't plan to have Cici. You just didn't have the heart to tell Pammy-Wammy that you were disappointed. But you've grown to care for the little tyke, which is commendable in light of producing a child out of wedlock." The genuine pity ticked Jim off. Dwight's assumption was preposterous, he would have loved Cici exactly the same whether or not she was properly conceived after his wedding.

"We're married Dwight," Jim exclaimed, "It doesn't matter!"

"Ah but it does, it always matters." He sprung, hands outstretched like a magician about to release a dove out of a top hat. Yet this ringmaster promised no such enchantment except a distorted version of happiness,

"Picture this! Cici growing up without knowing a father-how tragic! Certainly, that's no way for a child to live. And what a tough life to lead as a single mother. Plus, your baby girl's at such a tender age. Maybe I could become the new man in Pam's life, serving as both husband and father. Before long, I bet they won't even remember you."

"You're wrong!" Jim rasped, his voice lost in conviction, "Pam thinks you're disgusting. She'd never marry or even consider touching you, for goodness sake!" Rising up from the coils, Jim strained with all his might when he heard Dwight's following scheme,

"True, very true. If all else fails, I could always drug or intoxicate her during her deepest period of sorrow and plant my seed. Hmm that's actually a good idea. Pam has a wild streak in her, that's for sure. I wonder how long her resistance would last. Or, if I would have to break her in like the thoroughbred she is." Appalled, Jim could only gape in loathing,

"You're a monster!"

"Maybe I am, maybe not." The indifferent response concurred, "Either way, she's alone and viable to tactics of a seductive nature." Jim now had to grasp at straws, needing to deter him in some way.

"But-but you think she's ugly. You said so yourself!" Surprised at Jim's boldness, Dwight patiently explained,

"Unattractive, I never said ugly. But I realize what you're doing, and it won't work-not even because Pam's average looks are at an all-time low due to her first pregnancy or anything." Dwight curved around the chair, pondering aloud as his shoes scuffled along the dirt flooring,

"You know it's odd, but I seem to hold a curious sense of protection towards her. I mean, I have comforted her on multiple occasions, reassuring her value as one of the plain, hearty women of Scranton who showcases minimal artistic capacity, of course. Yet I do not blame her for not wearing make-up; actually I admire women who concentrate on the practical spheres of life. Much like those showcased in Maoist propaganda, might I add. However, a little mascara would do her no harm. You might wish to tell her that, should you see her unexceptional face once more."

"Pam is more beautiful than you give her credit." Insults against him were easy to deflect. Language directed towards his wife caused Jim to seethe, "You could never have a woman like her!"

"Hah, are you trying to mock my social life? Please go on, I'd love to hear it." He cupped his chin, beaming ridiculously.

"I know you like Angela." The claim struck home. Dwight's smile faded as he temporarily stiffened,

"That's…that's common knowledge for anyone with half a brain, dummy."

"Figured you'd say that," Jim relented, "However, I'm not so sure you want someone telling the entire office about your special rendezvous down in the warehouse or in the accounting cubicles." Now Jim had him. He was sure of it. Dwight stood there gaping like a fish, those bulging eyes of his betraying the slightest of apprehensions. Wait, no…his threat backfired.

"Go right ahead. Angela and I have made a contract, one cementing our secret affair from the public eye - one of which we both shall deny should any such accusation arise. Besides, I do not fear your idle threats. There is no way to escape Schrute Farms."

"I'll find a way out! Your farm isn't that big. As a side note, you might want to do something about the smell. This whole place reeks and looks like a dump." If there was an opportunity to fling mud, this was his chance and Jim took it. However, abusing the status of a fine beet farm nestled in the center of the most prestigious root vegetable district was unwise.

"Don't test me."

Stars burst in the forefront of Jim's vision. His skull exploded like a firework. The auburn crown had been slammed onto the earth, his body strapped to immovable wood in quick pursuit. Colliding into solid ground, he crumpled beneath the weight of the chair. Struggling to flip over, Jim felt pressure lean against the timber, crushing him immobile. A fist firmly planted itself a sliver past the captive's earlobe, threateningly brushing against his crest,

"Listen well Jim. I will be the one doing the intimidating, not you!" A grin rippled across cheeks which were ground into the packed soil,

"False, I just did." Using Dwight's own phrase against him could only direct the plot in an auspicious route,

"Then perhaps I should up the ante for you."

* * *

Hurled speedily over, a smashed face whirled from the dirt, careening into the musty barn air as the abused chair cart wheeled onto its rear. Crashing, Jim's eyes flared up, dizzily taking in the spinning world. A ceiling of rafters were stacked high above the figure sprawled below who briefly acknowledged the sunlight winking down at him from between knotholes.

Flat on his back, the wooden seat uncomfortably dug into his lumbar region. Hips jutted out at an obtuse angle. Jim's legs strapped to the stool posts hung limply in the air. A sudden pressure snaked up his ankle, bypassing the ropes in order to roll up the hem of grey trousers. Before being able to wonder what Dwight had in mind with his pant cuffs, deft knuckles swiftly tucked beneath the tight space between his left heel and the dialed-in plain toe of his British Tan Rockports.

"What in the world could you want with my shoes?"

"The privilege of covering your unsightly toes has been revoked." The supple, full-grain leather accented with upper stitching contoured around the elongated digits. The designer brand maintained its quality despite how the tongue snagged on his midsole as Dwight continued to tug. The russet-toned leather easily slipped off followed by fresh argyle which revealed slender ankles and feet that belonged to a man of height.

"The complete and utter lack of respect you muster for agronomy is disgusting." Dwight complained, bending across in the process of removing the other dress shoe, "You traipse about through clays and loams, frivolously mixing acidic and alkaline soils. That trait has always aggravated me - part of the reason I was so opposed to you first visiting my bed-and-breakfast inn but now it doesn't matter." Spotting a cheap opportunity due to their proximity, a rounded fist shot up an inch to bulls-eye the abnormal man in the gut. Cursing his own foolishness, Dwight dropped onto a knee, gripping his side.

"Ha hah! That's what you get!" Jim teased. He tilted over in the upturned chair to enjoy the pained expression he had caused. Dwight huffed, staggering upright, his confidence not dinted in the slightest,

"Gloat all you want Jim. Just be warned, you have no idea what's coming."

"Oh I'm _so_ scared!" The mocking tone continued victoriously, his triumph similar to that of a struggling mountaineer who had finally reached an unattainable summit, "I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm not afraid of you." Wiping his brow, Dwight leaned his forearms on Jim's kneecaps as if they were a window perch. His full weight arrested them effortlessly, enabling a free hand the chance to stroke an uncovered shin,

"In a few minutes, you might change your mind."

Time ticked languidly by with neither individual moving, one incapable while the other held complete authority like a toy. Anxiety chiseled its way through Jim's veins as his opponent's hand continued to pet his bare feet. Ticklish, the sensitive flesh caused Jim to shift irregularly. Refusing to break the silence, he instead rolled his eyes and fixated them on hay bales organized in a far corner.

He should have paid attention. That dreaded knife appeared yet again but this time its purpose was not his blood. Instead, it snipped away the remaining threads holding his spoiled shirt together. Clothing caked with scarlet liquid peeled away, ripped mercilessly from punctured skin.

"Oh look at you, the supposed poster boy! Guess your modeling career is over, what with all the scars I've left on you."

"Good thing I've never liked cameras," Jim spat, unnerved by how spectacled eyes took in the sight of his bare torso spread tautly against the rack, "Photographers never seem to capture my good side." Exasperated that his crass remark had not fazed his prisoner, Dwight implored,

"Can you be earnest for once?"

"Nope." The simplistic answer drove Dwight onward, his hand raking down firm obliques.

"Enough of your attitude." Inching past the waistband, Dwight successfully unbuckled the fine belt encircling Jim's hips. With a single yank, the cord slid from thin loops, the train dangling like a rat tail from the fist. Discarded immediately, the belt dove away into a sea of blackness as a coo issued from the man who had managed to procure a zipper hidden within polyester folds.

"What do you think you're doing? Get off me!" Jim's exclamations were completely ignored as previously concealed underwear timidly peaked from its cavern.

"And what is this, powder blue boxers? Oh, they even match your eyes. How suitably quaint." Dwight sniggered, jerking the unfastened trousers mid-thigh, "The uniformity you display is gross."

"You know what's gross? The fact that you're actually analyzing my underwear!"

"One's selection of undergarments tells a lot about a person. Your's are plain, unadorned, fitted and cut short although sensible. Maybe it matches what's underneath, hmm?"

"Oh would you knock it off." Blanching at the innuendo, Jim shook his head, "That's literally the grossest thing you've done yet." Bushy eyebrows merged in confusion, enhancing Dwight's sudden disappointment,

"You always seem to enjoy Michael's inappropriate jokes, why not mine?"

"First off, I don't _like_ when Michael talks that way. I only laugh to get him to stop; otherwise he'd just keep going. Secondly, his jokes were never aimed at me. You crossed the line! I'm serious, even Michael wouldn't have joked about _that_." Vengeful Dwight was back, his resolve yet again solidified,

"And here I thought I lectured a lot. Boy, you take it to the next level!" Laughing, he flicked near Jim's bellybutton in retaliation, "I never realized how picky you are. What a baby."

A sweaty palm then fell, gliding over upper thighs. Taken aback, Jim could only feebly gawk into the visage of his oppressor. The reflection of his own horrified expression was mirrored across the fogged glasses of his captor. His lips were in the process of parting, words bubbling up in a crucial request for the barrier between their flesh to remain intact.


	5. Calm before the Fury

Hello once again my dear followers! Not to worry, I intend to have the 6th chapter up in a few months. If that doesn't happen, feel free to prod me some more :D

As always, your comments are well loved &amp; inspire me to keep writing this ridiculous story...

Finally we'll see some action, however I don't think Jim's going to enjoy the ride

**Copyright:**

The Office (U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Calm before the Fury**

* * *

The unspoken plea was granted. Gaze steady, the hand lifted to trail up against a dipped collar bone. Finger pads gently fondled the prisoner's throat, brushing over the protrusion of his Adam's apple.

As a taper in a rushing wind, the soft caress ghosted over his muscles, causing them to spasm. The touches were tender, light and airy, hardly making contact yet far too close for comfort. A shudder racked through the suspended body as a slow, circular motion massaged below a clenched jaw line. The brief image of Pam quaking beneath his adoring hands appeared in Jim's mind, allowing him to comprehend how his touch affected her. No wonder she always came undone by the sweet confessions of love breathed into her nape and by how he would worship her sensitive neck.

The pixie kiss planted on his shoulder blade cut short the husband's recollection of his wife. A sudden nip behind Jim's earlobe alarmed the bound man who had not seen this at all in a potentially sexual light. He would not fully understand Dwight's horrendous intentions until much later. For now, the initial unexpected, unseen bite instilled a sense of foreboding which washed coldly throughout his nervous system. Miniscule bumps appeared across the lean incline of his neck, the skin chilled by affectionate lips trailing further towards his own.

"S-top." The uneasy command encouraged the flat of a tongue to trace along the edge of his mandible. Groaning in disgust, Jim attempted to nudge away but his movement was jarred instantly by a pair of hands which clutched his face. Held firmly in place, he could only squeeze his eyes shut at the unbearable sensation. The slender organ glided across his cheeks and lapped the space between his temples before settling on the corner of his mouth.

The imposing tongue shyly inched closer, testing churning waters. Inhaling shakily, Jim tilted his head until it bumped against the backboard of the chair which offered no other option but to sit forward. Pursed lips were graced by the descent of a feathery kiss. The hesitant action surprised Jim, not simply from aversion but more so at the quality of Dwight's orifice. The intruder's lips, although thinner than a woman's and less smooth, were thick and softer than he had expected a man's to be. Emboldened by the lack of resistance, Dwight held his position, chastely pressing their lips together. As Jim secretly debated the characteristics of the lips flattened against his own, Dwight's mouth slid to suck his opponent's lower lip inward.

Jerking away, reality hit and reminded Jim of his strange circumstance. Dwight was kissing him, _kissing_ him! Repelled, he managed to evade further pecks for a few seconds by bobbing his head around until Dwight had enough of his antics. Plunging precariously ahead, the plump muscle wetted the other by licking across Jim's lips before prying them open with the use of a thumb.

* * *

Saliva and heat swarmed together. Fiercely smothered, a haze encapsulated the captive's thoughts. His torso heaved as a tongue forcibly entered his mouth. Jim writhed beneath the man probing his inner cheeks, something thick slithering around molars on its way to his throat. A guttural moan disturbed the back peddling individual, his tied wrists desperately trying to push off the chest emanating such frightful sounds. Hovering over the chair, Dwight continued to explore, his tongue rattling gums and licking across the roof of Jim's mouth in a woozy spin.

Overwhelmed by the foreign intrusion, crippling shock caused Jim to abandon any remnant of struggle. Despite attending to his task with gusto, Dwight noticed the limpness of his abhorred nemesis. Pondering if the next course of action would revive the lethargic fellow, Dwight fully tunneled to the entrance of his companion's esophagus. Gagging, Jim sputtered and roared into life. Thrashing and convulsing without success, the hostage bit down onto his adversary's tongue. A ringing slap sounded followed by a quick yelp. Red imprinted the already battered face.

"It's fortunate you did not slice through my tongue. Otherwise you'd be dead where you stand!" Craned forward by the make-shift blindfold, Jim instantly spat into Dwight's enraged face, karma for the prior insult. Wiping the spit off, Dwight gripped the loose strap of the tie, the end extended tautly outwards while his other hand gripped Jim stiffly by the throat.

"I have put unbending regulations in place and will govern with an iron fist. This is an autocracy. I make the rules, you adhere to them. Understand?" A detained larynx compressed under pressure that hardly enabled breath. No longer able to suck vital oxygen into his lungs, Jim blinked, hoping the movement would suffice as a signal of agreement. The acknowledgement appeared to have suited Dwight's demands for he nonchalantly slackened the tie. Panting, Jim gulped mouthfuls of air in the slow attempt to recuperate. Watching the desire to survive shining within his prisoner's eyes, Dwight tapped his chin thoughtfully,

"Did you know that the skin is the largest organ of the body? The nerve endings are countless. Imagine the possibilities. If you thought cutting off your air supply for a meager fifteen seconds was difficult, just wait. Picture all the ways pain and anguished pleasure can be drilled into you."

"Come on," Coughing, Jim complained despairingly, "Don't use those terms." Flinching, he twisted away as Dwight leaned over and pinioned his forearms against the chair's armrests. Hot breath wafted across his pectorals in a chuckle. Darting out of a crevice like a spider, something damp smeared against his chest. Daring to trace the offending insect's scuttling feet, Jim recoiled instantly when he saw that despicable tongue bee lining towards his breast.

"Wait! Dwight stop, just stop!" Dabbing here and there, the offender continued to tenderly prod the pink tip. Licking with steady strokes, the tenderized nipple began to harden.

"Ah God, stop it!" The slick feeling caused heat to stir within Jim. Queasy, his pit felt like a skid riding through a gale as acid crashed against the walls of his stomach. Pausing in his suckling, Dwight glanced up, beady eyes full of accusation,

"Why, does it frighten you that I'm so close to the truth?"

"No," Appreciative for the distracting conversation, Jim glared, "I adore my wife. Unlike you, I want nothing to do with men."

"Shows what you know," Dwight murmured, tweaking the breast harshly to shut Jim up, "This is not about _wanting_ you sexually. It's purely domination. For the last time, I will prove to you that I am physically and intellectually better than you." Gritting his teeth, Jim scornfully interjected,

"Hmmm…well your social skills still need work." Twisting harder, Dwight sarcastically laughed,

"Hahah, _not _funny. Gosh, you're so obnoxious." Rubbing the nib between his fingertips, Dwight clarified, "Listen, no debatable choice is available. You are my prisoner. I can do anything I like to you and I intend to abuse that ability to the fullest. You will accept my man-meat and enjoy every inch. I guarantee it." A green shade passed over Jim as he faltered at the thought,

"I think I'm going to be sick." Grinning vindictively, Dwight lauded,

"That's because your immune system is lame, foddered by the likes of McDonalds and Starbuck lattes. Schrute boys are far superior compared to the youth of today. It's a shame you weren't raised as one. Perhaps you wouldn't have turned out as scrawny." His expression actually revealed pity, making Jim wonder what type of Schrute-raised man Dwight envisioned, "Or pathetically feminine."

"That's sexist." Jim snapped, mind flashing to a sore point, seeking a chance to prevent this vicious scheme of retribution, "At work, you could have received a demerit for that. And what would that do to your spotless record?"

"It's a good thing we're no longer in the office then, isn't it?" Drat, the diversion flopped. Even if it had succeeded, it would not have been long before Dwight resumed the molestation of his coworker.

Pursuing the indication of womanly elements, Dwight let his thumb and forefinger cup the unmoving chin, holding it hard while titling Jim's face up and into the light. Now capable of viewing fair attributes in their entirety, Dwight could better evaluate his new possession.

"See…you fit my description of an ideal woman perfectly. Rosy cheeks, thick calves, no tats or moles. I don't see what you're complaining about." The lucid crosses of Jim's eyes rotated sideways irritably,

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Dwight stopped the retort, swinging along with his famous logic,

"False. An insult, one of thousands coming your way. Prepare yourself for humiliation station. Ticketmaster is me. And I'm about to-"

"You're not even the conductor in this scenario?" Jim clucked his tongue, "You know what's lame? Your fantasies. They don't' even begin to explore anything worthwhile."

"You'll see how worthy they can be." A hand drifted up silent as silk. Gliding over said feminine calves, a low tone inquired, "I see. By asking about my fantasies, you want to know what I desire most intimately."

"No, no I definitely do not." Deft nails flickered over the waistband, trailing up an unbuttoned polo which drooped from bent elbow joints. Twin hands gathered around the pale collar currently rotating speedily backwards at Dwight's approach,

"Well, that's too bad…because my fantasy has just become reality."

"W-what do you mean?" Stuttering, Jim was suddenly unable to comprise a witty remark as fingers constricted his neck.

"Oh I think you know what I mean." Large, unshaped eyebrows rose in a suggestive manner, insinuating what was most feared, "As you already know, due to that Donald Duck fiasco months ago, I have seen animals having sex in every position imaginable. You better not underestimate my creativity."

* * *

Relief flooded the prisoner as the man's presence was removed, freeing his tingling knees which had been lain atop of for the whole duration. Once departing the long legs, Dwight lifted Jim with a tremendous heave, chair and all, into the air. He quickly rotated the seat, the stand pivoting in the soil before crashing onto a nearby crate.

Jostled but otherwise unharmed, Jim was glad that Dwight's anger had not tossed his unprotected abdomen onto the giant wooden box face first. Perhaps the "Gym for Muscles" and Dwight's beet industry were paying off. Prior to this, the thin salesman had not realized that the stocky farmer was fit and beefy below the padding of his gullet.

Leather tongs fastened the victim onto the make-shift tabletop in a cocoon similar to how a fly is caught in a web. Jim worriedly remained upright as new rope encircled his limbs. He noticed a bulky and nondescript mechanism stationed behind him, pondering what agricultural purpose it served. Now was not the time to take in the scenery. Opaque tubes, which were gathered at the table's basin, were brought up like snakes. Once applied, the lids stuck to his skin like a bathroom floor mat. Blotted circles attached below his earlobes, along his pecks, ribcage, inner thighs, and the soles of his feet; secured to all the vitally sensitive regions except for one last, private location.


	6. The Webs We Weave

Here's the 6th chapter of Bitter Truth. Thank you so much for your patience and as usual, look forward to the next update!

I have been delighted by all the reviews I've received, keep them pouring in - its so much fun to hear what you think about certain scenes :)

**Copyright:**

The Office(US) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Webs We Weave**

* * *

Giant and menacing, a nozzle connected to the unknown device reeled out. The instrument featured a large head, opened wide like a vacuum. A valve, shoved against the barn wall, connected the cord-like apparatus. Manifold gadgets and levers glinted through shadow, lighting up a regulator that blinked harshly in the darkness. The control device fanned outwards in a stream of pipes which issued from central machinery. White storage vats huddled together besides a carbon steel compressor station which eerily cradled the nozzle's base into its core. The syringe rolling towards the crate, whatever its original function, was meant for the sacrificial lamb warily observing the bizarre procession.

Setting the hose on the ground near his feet, Dwight immediately returned his focus onto Jim's chest. Once discarding all superfluous cloth, he rubbed up the smooth torso,

"Ah you have such creamy skin. Do you ever get outside?" The question was not one of interest, rather dull admiration. However, Jim took it defensively,

"It's the middle of November, not sunny enough to get my tan on."

"Psshh-like you tan!" A deep belly laugh came outright as Dwight felt the curve of a deltoid, "Don't worry, your pallor is illuminating."

"You just described a light bulb. Ummpph!" Jim contested, straining when his left breast was flicked in a passing warning. Dwight wordlessly vaulted to Jim's skull. Two fingers gradually pushed into his jaw, the pressure forcing the mouth apart.

"Hmm yes, straight teeth." Leather featuring a horse bit swept around his jowl, locking into place at the base of his hairline. The cold metal stung. The girth was too large and tasted of dried spittle. He mawed, attempting to hurl it out until a fist furiously ripped Jim's head to the side by his hair,

"Tut, tut, tut, a beast of burden must obey its master. Speaking of horses, you have a lovely curled mane." Jim cringed out of the grip, eyes glowering with indignation. Dwight pleasantly chided, "Calm down. I'm almost done. I just need to finish a quick analysis of your health."

Arranging the ropes, Dwight made sure all knots were secure before gripping two thin pipes. The suction tubes clamped onto Jim's nipples, causing him to exhale at the cold surprise.

"An almost perfect specimen." Dwight commented before conceding, "Although I must admit, average breasts."

"I'm a man, Dwight!" Jim shouted around the bit, his sentence distorted by metal and merged with shame.

"Let's not kid ourselves." Thin lips twisted in amusement as he patted Jim's thigh playfully once before striding over to the machine,

"Alright, everything's in place. The milking process will ignite in three, two…one."

* * *

The contraption hummed on cue. Pistons on the pumping station chugged into life, incessantly pounding away into white vats awaiting sustenance.

"You know, I have been pondering whether I should start up a new line of work. I want to buy a few dozen heifers and create a new milk production company. It would be a very unique brand, might I add. Sadly, I have no way of knowing if the machine is ready for operations yet." Green-flecked irises flickered over to the counter, eager to witness a much expected reaction. He slyly drew the main tube to the tabletop, all the while indicating something horrid, "Due to complications, I had a tough decision to make. See, Schrute Farms currently lacks a bovine populace. So you will serve in their place."

Floored by the revelation, Jim's jaw dropped. The machine behind him was a dairy processing engine. And he was to be the cow.

"Isn't she exquisite?" Scoffing at Jim's silence, he proceeded to grip the man's crotch, "You don't appreciate beauty." Flustered and at a loss, Jim shifted wildly the second greasy hands alighted onto the zipper of his tweed pants. Easily yanking down the fastener, material ripped away. The closure torn, a flat button popped off with the effort. A hand dipped below powder blue boxers seeking the lean physique of Jim Halpert.

Exposed, Jim flushed. Heat rose to his ears, tingeing them a light pink. The throbbing hum of his heart crowded out all thought. Freeing the flaccid organ, Dwight firmly gripped the base in order to draw it to the strange nozzle. Grotesque mortification churned his bones upon the realization that Dwight intended to _milk_ him.

Squirming prior to being set up, kneecaps jutted into Dwight's midsection. Dislodged for but a moment, the man was atop again, shoving Jim down by the use of hooks. Klatches secured to the end of rope dug into the opposing leather, aligning over his torso in a multi crisscross fashion like a pie lattice. Suction tubes previously arranged onto Jim's bare chest wavered throughout the mêlée. Forced into place, the member was swallowed by a clear tube as it entered the machine.

Vocal chords tightened due to a navy tie still hanging loosely about Jim's own neck as it rolled upwards. Once the material balled up, Dwight fiercely jabbed fingers into Jim's cheeks, forcing the swollen jaw open past the metal bit. Pearls transformed into daggers as Jim swiftly twisted his head, freeing his chin long enough to bite down. But Dwight had learned his mistake from last time. The hand pulled away instinctively before contact could be made. Yet it was back a second later with a medium brooch. The clothing pin pinched harshly as it clamped over the circular tube positioned across Jim's right breast. With unrelenting pressure, Jim felt as though the nipple might be shorn clean off by the squeezing wood.

Screaming in shock, Jim's preoccupation gave ample room for Dwight to resume the plunge. Stuffing anything into the declining mouth would have taken a bit of effort for the young man thrashed like a fish refusing to be hooked.

"Since you're so high maintenance, here Queen Halpert…maybe this'll shut you up."

Managing to push the fabric entirely behind raging teeth, Dwight used a palm to hold Jim's lips shut while he slipped his own mustard tie down from the bridge of his prisoner's nose. Securing the silk across a tie-filled mouth, the dual strips formed a rough gag across the horse harness already restraining Jim's head.

Jim was livid. His tongue arched against the roof of his mouth, attempting to create more space around the protrusion within the moist cave hampered additionally by a cold bar. Dozens of cotton balls seemed to have been stockpiled in his throat. Breathing was difficult and unpleasant, comparable to treading through a lukewarm marsh. Outcries muffled, the Polish man opted to glower up at the one who dared to besmirch his personhood.

It all seemed like one huge game to Dwight. Ecstatically he grinned, the power trip swelling his oversized ego. The whole situation was perfect. Nothing could make him happier than to see Jim huddled at his feet, unable to resist the inevitable fate which loomed at the forefront of Dwight's vision. Drumming the tip of Jim's nose, the ruddy features of Dwight Schrute beamed,

"The fun's about to start Jimmy. Shall we begin?"


	7. Milk

I must apologize for my long absence. I recently graduated from university and am still enduring many challenging life tragedies so I put this on the backburner. Even though it's taken a lot longer to complete this chapter than I know many of you would've liked (has it really been over a year?), I still think it's for the best that I edit to the point where I'm satisfied enough to submit instead of just posting trash

Speaking of which, I'm shocked that this is my highest viewed fic…it's such a disgusting concept, is that why? And maybe this'll surprise you but I never thought I'd ever write anything for the Office let alone something with these two bozos in it but here we are.

You can find all my stories on both my FF and AoO accounts but I highly recommend actually reading this story through that site because the format is a lot cleaner. You can find _Bitter Truth_ through this link - /works/910989/chapters/1764832

I have so many other fics in progress but I'll aim to focus more on completing this story. We are roughly at page 35 of the 60 pages I'm in the process of editing – so don't despair dear readers! Hope you understand that these things take time and that I have other priorities that I often have to see to first but that does not mean I have abandoned this story. Far from it! Thank you for your encouraging comments and continued support!

**Copyright:**

The Office (U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America &amp; Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Milk**

* * *

"You should be grateful to receive the honor of being my first test subject." Adjusting levers and flicking the buttons of the bizarre mechanism to the proper setting, Dwight launched the machine. Locking coordinates into place, the beet farmer returned to Jim's side with sea gray eyes that were fixated and alert,

"Oh it's starting. You'll feel some suction soon." Clear tubes vibrated as a whizzing sound issued from the narrow train, the pressure swaying the tripartite conduit sealed tightly onto sensitive receptors. Hungrily Dwight's fingers traced the perimeter of the suction tubes lining both of Jim's pectorals, examining the texture of the lightly tinted skin as though measuring the width and production capabilities of the riveted areoles.

The fluttery motion caused the bound figure's muscles to twitch at the irritating stimulation yet his focus ripped to the surge betwixt his thighs. While distracted, air had begun to mischievously rove in circles up the diaphanous pipe, tickling the tip of his restrained penis. Jim's lower lip quivered, the barn suddenly humid and much too stuffy although his body lay prone as though frozen in place.

Something seemed to be lodged in his throat, immovable and suffocating. The force of it all started to pull. Mustered power sucked the offending object into a vortex of wind and imminent fog. As though warped into a black hole, Jim felt himself tilt, his body curling under incessant pressure.

The suction grew more and more intense, squeezing tightly to the point of pain. Lips falling open, the harness securing his head refused to allow the makeshift gag from slipping out along with his clamped suppressions. Jim's eyes clenched shut to block out the sensations. Folding into the recesses of his mind, the businessman attempted to dissipate the image of himself lying bound and naked before such an unflinching and merciless gaze.

As though aware of Jim's heightened insecurities, Dwight's pudgy arm extended to initiate the next gauge level as he condescendingly noted,

"Let's see if you can hold back the tears. I bet you won't last long." The suction of the machine rumbled, reducing the salesman to wracked gasps and shudders in moments at the expense of the seemingly trivial experiment.

* * *

Tension rolled in waves as how the ocean mounts the shoreline, swell upon swell. Ebbing and receding, the cycle insufferable. Aching, panting, coated in sweat, Halpert tried his best not to react as tears budded at the corners of his lids. However, try as he might, eventual moans slipped out at the excruciating tautness blockading the release of his engorged member.

"Who knew you were such a dirty thing?" Dwight commented in delight at Jim's ragged breathing puffing behind the balled tie gagging his mouth, "You sound like a porn star. Maybe I should record this after all." The Polish man blanched, turning a ghastly white to which Dwight busted up cackling,

"Aha you should see the look on your face! Of course I've been recording this the entire time – only a fool would pass up such a delicious opportunity. I'm sure all my friends will get a kick out of this. Then that bunch of warlocks will know who reigns supreme! Well, considering that I post it at all…I don't need incriminating evidence on my trail. Still, don't you worry, I'll find a use for it, even if the recording remains only for my own personal enjoyment."

How he wish he could scream! The gag made the humiliation even worse. Not only bound but stifled, with the innate right to speech denied, Jim's only solace were muffled screeches cursing the oppressor above.

"Whether I post a video or not, you can't deny you're feeling it. You sure you don't like this type of thing? I think the degradation is getting you off."

Jim's thrashing momentarily paused before renewing again with additional vigor. This was not the case! He did not want this and absolutely loathed what was being done to his protesting frame. Yet, to his remorse, the sexual functioning of a human's body is designed to respond to stimulation, any stimulation regardless of context.

The three main suctions, one secured to each nipple and the remaining valve swallowing the whimpering penis, chugged onwards without regard to either man or their whims. Cries soaked the silken gag as the leather of the harness bruised his pummeled cheeks with each spasmed thrash. Chafed and red, the machine never wavered though the prisoner's breasts were beaten raw.

Despite faulty claims, male breasts cannot produce milk. Regardless of the machine's design, the experiment was never expected to collect the white constituent. Instead, the friction of the tubes were intended to arouse and shame Dwight's colleague, purposefully exposing his co-worker to the device to grind into his understanding that he is a lesser male, comparable to a female with subjugate-able utters.

* * *

Groaning beneath the weight, muffled hints of heated pleasure melted into an ugly weeping. Sobs become hysteric as the machine whirred in a frenzy at the gauge's zenith. Seeing the queasy balance the man tilted between upon the edge of completion and forlorn agony, Dwight's hand came to firmly grip Jim at the base of his member. Squeezing the scrotum fiercely before letting go, Dwight's fingers remained to trace the sinew as sudden involuntary muscular contractions amounted to convulsive twitching. The compressing hold followed by an immediate lift of pressure caused Jim to release primarily from overstimulation and the vibrating cyclone of artificial force.

Upon reaching his peak, Jim, utterly shamed by his ejaculation caused by the duration of the suction and the unanticipated pressure of his captor's hands, became awash in grief as a pearlescent liquid and hot tears spilled forth.

Awarding a successful verdict to the machine's performance in a moleskin journal, Dwight in due course tumbled over to finally remove the dripping member from its tubular encasing. Having extinguished the swollen head of its bright sheen of vermillion, the agricultural specialist inspected the anatomy of his specimen outside its tight confines. An immense sense of repulsion coursed through Jim at the fact that Dwight was handling his delicate length and continuing to pry from the sensitive tip its last remaining droplets.

Clenching damp eyelids further shut, Jim tried to ignore his quivering organ as saline slid down bruised cheeks and a split lip to blur into the gap between his thighs. Choking, his body dry heaved as he exerted all the will he could muster to stop crying and shivering at the invasive experience. More so out of a deeply rooted desire to hide his weakness from the presence of Dwight, who was looking on the dismal scene never deterring his gaze from any of the hapless man's reactions.

Prompted by the overstimulated, highly sensitive and unnatural rhythm of his patient's breathing, Dwight was compelled to unhitch the leather straps constraining Jim's skull after he accidentally choked himself on his own saliva and lack of air. Dragging soaked ties from his mouth, Schrute went about thwacking Jim's back in a Heimlich fashion until he calmed down. Limply rolling in shamed pleasure and disdain at his uncooperative body, Jim hazily acknowledged the Assistant to the Regional Manager's delight at the turmoil and guilt heaped upon the one he has been yearning to see sniveling in his own filth and disgrace.

* * *

After his frantic breathing neared regulation, Jim found himself surprised to be offered respite. Still heavily panting from the taxing machine, he knew to be wary from experience. Laboring for oxygen in the straw, he kept his eyes and fists clenched, shaking, and wishing none of this were real.

In the steaming pile of hay and sweltering barn air, Dwight absentmindedly brushed a damp bang from shielding his vision of the captured prize who was still coming down from the anxiety attack that accompanied his unwanted climax.

"I'm glad I tested her out on you. You really do remind me of a sow." Hazel eyes roved sideways to question the somewhat sympathetic tone he detected within the insult, "If you weren't such a deplorable example of a man I would not have exposed you to such tactics. Ah but such is life. At least I managed to gather sufficient records for my bovine side business. We here at Schrute Farms thank you for your contribution."

Jim remained silent, not desiring to bicker so soon with the imbecile.

"Nothing to say? How unlike you. Jim, you're such an uninspiring slacker, an inept salesman and a snob. That's obvious. But what's worse, you are so feminine. Do you not understand? If you weren't such a woman, I might not have had to expose you to such measures." Jim succumbed, not able to prevent himself from making a typical wisecrack,

"Y-yeah? W-well you're just…ah….you think you're so great, belittling m-my manhood. But you know what? I'm more of a man…than you'll ever be." Pettiness flared within the successful family and businessman who could no longer restrain himself from flinging an insult toward his captor, "I bet you can't even satisfy a woman."

"You can be the judge of that," Dwight chuckled disturbingly, grateful that Jim had so much spunk left - enough to suit his taste. True, the fascist nerd wanted to break Jim but he would be separately disappointed if Jim instantly gave in or submitted to him. That was not an authentic form of their rivalry.

And although Dwight despised Jim and despite being singed to admit it, the outcast entrepreneur did consider the jokester a noble opponent worth the trouble of breaking. Yes, he wanted to hurt him; that was a certain fact. If his nemesis proved otherwise unsatisfactory, punishment would still continue but unchallenged groveling would have lowered his opinion of Jim further.

In the beet farmer's mind, however annoying, immature and undeserving of praise or promotion Jim was, Halpert still remained a capable enemy that had proven his intelligence for years. That cunning nature had taught him not to take the unassuming man lightly. Indeed, the revenge plot hinged upon the delicious high Dwight received from seeing the cocky man brought low.

* * *

"Ugh, disgusting." The short peace concluded when Dwight came to find ejaculated spray clinging to his dress shirt. With an upturned nose, he used the back of his hand to wipe off the white liquid that had vaulted onto his suit during the explosive milking,

"What idiocy, you are truly incompetent. You drool like a babe. Maybe I should attach a feedbag to help you not spill. Hmm, would you like that?" Mockingly, Dwight strutted off to the nearest horse stable. The demeaning idea struck Jim whose heart rate spiked.

"I have one laying around here somewhere; I can tie it on in no time. Just say the word."

Rummaging through an equipment closet, Dwight burst forth, waving the awful pouch in the air,

"Aha! I can't wait for you to try it on." Reaching the crate, he instantly went to work straightening the man and unfastening the constricting belts.

"D-don't you dare use a feedbag on me! Psycho, you need to stop!" Terrified, Jim fiercely shook his head back and forth. Insulting phrases turned into an outright plea as Jim's countenance became consumed by an apologetic tone as Dwight advanced, the feedbag awaiting his protesting mouth.

"Dwight, Dwight stop! _Please_ don't make me wear it. Mwhua, gruhe-"

"Is the baby scared? Shhh, shh, it's alright. I won't do it." He stroked Jim's head as if he were a fragile doll.

In his frenetic state, Jim found himself surprised that he actually welcomed the touch. As though already a victim of Stockholm syndrome, Jim nodded once in gratefulness, almost coming to find a semblance of comfort in the palm pressed against his scalp. Here they remained, confined in space, apart yet connected by the lingering poise of their olden time camaraderie and the security the warm touch briefly supplied.

The appreciation was short lived for twin cords swiftly buckled behind his crown. Cold metal slid between his teeth as dingy fabric was pulled taunt against his cheekbones.

"Mmmmph!" A squeal betrayed his fear, tear-flecked eyes beseeching the insane man gripping the lead. Unclipping the remaining pumping tubes from his hostage's chest, Dwight dragged Jim's unchained form from the table, kicking him forward with the flat of his boot.

Weak knees did not stand a chance, proving incapable of supporting the man's waning weight. Buckling due to the inability to hold himself up, Jim's lithe figure dropped. He remained floored until Dwight yanked on the leash, causing his tongue to gush. Crimson liquid filled his mouth. A pounding current of blood additionally tingled throughout his unused limbs, notifying Jim of the duplicity of a numbed consciousness.

The primarily bare individual stumbled along awkwardly, his wrists tied, looped and connected together with that horrid mouth bit. Dragged mercilessly across the floor, Jim was led by the feeding bag to the center of the slaughterhouse,

"This muzzle looks good on you. Don't worry, you'll still be able to talk. After all, I want to hear your screams."


End file.
